


push and pull (like a magnet do)

by yellowteapots



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, Gyms, M/M, POV Monty Green
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 09:16:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11756718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowteapots/pseuds/yellowteapots
Summary: Monty is already regretting his decision and he's not even inside the gym yet.God, this really isn't going to be pretty. He's pathetic really.Nate Miller 19:07 - Come on Monty! You're not going to give up already are you?Nate Miller 19:07 - I didn't take you for a quitter.Monty lets out a resigned sigh. He's only got himself to blame for this mess anyway. There are definitely better ways to spend more time with your crush that don't involve vigorous exercise and the shame of wearing spandex in a public space.or Monty has an elaborate plan to date Miller. It involves the gym and a lot of unnecessary sweating.





	push and pull (like a magnet do)

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been meaning to get this finished for eons and I've finally got my ass in gear and posted it. Hope everyone enjoys this little bit of minty to keep us going for the haitus. May season five let minty rise.
> 
> As usual, all prompts accepted on my tumblr: @nathanmillerz

Monty is already regretting his decision and he's not even inside the gym yet.

In fact, he's stood outside with a battered khaki rucksack slung over his shoulder full of brand new exercise gear. He'd bought it all last year after a particularly inspiring episode of The Biggest Loser and it had sat in the bottom of his wardrobe ever since.

He should probably be glad he's actually about to get some use out of them, but he can't bring himself to be thankful when there's a stream of heavily muscled men and toned women walking out of the gym, smug smiles plastered across their faces and not a drop of sweat in sight. Which is exactly the reason why Monty is regretting his life choices.

God, this really isn't going to be pretty. He's pathetic really.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time – even though he knows he's already a couple of minutes late – Monty gears himself up for the embarrassment that's no doubt heading his way. It wasn't even his fault that he was late – he's usually early for everything, hating being late with a passion – but he hadn't been able to get out of his apartment without Clarke giving him the third degree. It's like living with his parents all over again because, as much as she'd like to deny it, Clarke's so much like her mother at times it's uncanny.

He's about to put his phone away when a message pops onto the screen.

**Nate Miller 19:07**

Come on Monty! You're not going to give up already are you?

  
  


**Nate Miller 19:07**

I didn't take you for a quitter.

  
  


Monty lets out a resigned sigh. He's only got himself to blame for this mess anyway. There are definitely better ways to spend more time with your crush that don't involve vigorous exercise and the shame of wearing spandex in a public space. Has Monty mentioned that he's pathetic.

  
  


**Monty Green 19:09**

Sorry! Bus was late! Outside now!

  
  


His fingers fly over the screen and he sends the message before he has time to worry about how many exclamation marks he's just used. Normal people don't use three in one text right? It's not a thing that sane people do. Jasper does, all the time actually, but that only serves Monty's point.

It's now or never.

Taking one last breath to gather his courage, Monty shoves his phone into his pocket and walks through the revolving door and into the too bright foyer.

The harsh glow from the artificial lights is enough to give anyone a headache so Monty has a hard time believing that the chirpy girl behind the counter is as bouncy as she seems. Her dark hair is braided down her back and her eyes sparkle with the same kind of forced customer service that Monty is all too familiar with after the summer during high school when he worked in Hell-Mart.

“Hello there!” the girl beams, all teeth, leaping out of her seat and leaning over the desk. “You're looking a little lost there, honey, can I check your membership?”

Monty doesn't know whether he should be offended or not. He _could_ have a membership. He doesn't but he totally could, right? She doesn't need to sound quite so patronizing. No wonder so many people give up the gym when they're made to feel inadequate before they've even touched a treadmill or a....or a....whatever else you find in the gym. Monty wouldn't know.

“It's all right, Fox, he's with me.” Nate drawls, his all too familiar smirk playing on his lips, from his position leant against the vending machine. Should gyms even have vending machines, Monty wonders. Oh, never mind they're only full of vitamin water anyhow, none of the good stuff. What was the point?

“Oh, hey Miller.” the girl, Fox, beams again only this time it's much more genuine. Monty can't help but notice the blush on her cheeks. She' probably doesn't even know that she's barking up the wrong tree but how can Monty judge, he's just as bad. It only gets worse when Fox starts to twirl an absent finger through a loose strand of hair. “It's good to see you, you've not been around much lately.”

The implication is clear in her voice. She's clearly angling for more information and if Nate realizes that this poor girl has a thing for him then he doesn't show it. He's always had a great poker face. Which is part of the reason why Monty has no idea how things stand between them.

Nate shrugs in that infuriatingly attractive way that he does. “I've been busy with work but my buddy, Monty, here,” he walks over and slaps Monty on the back, “wants to get in shape so I'm offering up my services.”

Monty's not sure he's ever heard Nate talk so much to someone who wasn't a part of their friendship group. It's easy and natural, the way he smiles at Fox, and if Monty didn't know that Nate was categorically not into girls then he might be fooled into thinking he was flirting with her. Thankfully, though, he knows better.

It looks like Fox is about to say something else but before she can Nate clears his throat. “We better get started or I won't make it home in time before the game.”

“Oh okay. Catch you later then?” she asks hopefully.

“Uh, maybe.”

“Cool.”

Monty waits for the double doors to slam behind them. “You know she's into you right?”

“Is she? I hadn't noticed.” To his credit, he genuinely looks astounded. “I thought she was just being...friendly?”

“Wow. You really are oblivious.” Monty snarks. “The poor girl probably thinks she's got a chance.” he teases, only half joking.

Nate shakes his head, confused. “But I – never mind. Now stop distracting me and go get changed, I'll meet you in the ring.”

  
  


  
  


“Are my arms _meant_ to feel like this?” Monty pants, swinging his arms wildly using up the little amount of energy he has left. He really has no business being here but for some reason – one that's currently beyond him - Monty thought this would be a good idea. They've only been at it for ten minutes and he already feels like he's dying. “Whose idea was this?”

“Yours.” Nate replies from behind the punching bag.

“Clearly I was deluded. Possessed even.”

Nate shrugs, “If you're serious about this then it's going to hurt. You probably didn't warm up properly or something.”

Damn right he didn't warm up properly. But it wasn't his fault. Watching Nate do all of the stretching and bending and flexing was so much more appealing than actually _doing_ the stretching and bending and flexing. Besides even without that distraction – and believe him, it's one hell of a distraction – having one of your friends bark orders at you 'to bend over more' or 'you need to be more flexible, stretch!' was probably like having one of your parents teaching you to drive – it was hard to take them seriously.

“But why does it feel like I'm dying?” Monty takes another wild swing. He lands the punch but he's probably done more damage to himself than to the bag. “I'm not actually dying am I?”

Nate rolls his eyes. “Here take this.” he tosses a water bottle in Monty's direction. “Take a break and then we're getting back to work. I'm serious, Monty, those puppy dog eyes might work on Bellamy but I'm not fooled for a second. You're not stepping out of here until you take it seriously.”

“You're not stepping out of here until you take it seriously.” Monty mocks in a voice far too high pitched to be an accurate impression of Miller.

Nate snorts, leaning back against the side of the ring. “I could make this a lot harder you know. Besides, I had to work hard to make sure we could use the ring today, you know.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” Monty grumbles, sweat pouring down his forehead. Again, he's not sure why he thought this would be a good way to seduce Nate Miller but it seemed like a good idea at the time. “I'm just so unfit.”

“Don't be such a baby, you're doing fine.” Nate smiles.

“Then why don't I _feel_ fine, Nate?” Monty groans, bent over with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.

Nate chuckles. “No pain, no gain.”

Monty could happily punch him in the face. Luckily for Nate that Monty's arms aren't working. “Right now this feels like all pain and no gain.”

“You're ridiculous.” Nate scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You did ask me to help you with this.”

“Are you doing this because you hate me? It feels like you hate me right now Nate.”

Monty feels like he's been lied to about the damn gym. Everyone on the posters and everyone training in all the rooms they passed was smiling and enjoying pushing themselves to their limit so why's Monty dripping with sweat and cursing the day he thought it would be a good idea to get feelings for someone? False advertising. That must be it. No one could really be happy doing this, could they? It has to be some kind of elaborate corporate lie.

“You asked me to help you with this, remember? We can always call it a night if you like.”

“No!” That wakes Monty up enough to spur him into action. “In fact, I think I'm ready to go again.” He pauses, to pull the mitts back on. “Yeah, I'm definitely getting a second wind”

“Sure about that?”

By this point, Monty's fringe is already matted and plastered to his forehead and his shirt is stuck to his back so why not? In for a penny and all that.

The things you did for love.

  
  


  
  


**Monty Green 21:39**

I'm home now. Thanks for earlier :)

  
  


**Nate Miller 21:43**

Same time next week yeah?

  
  


Monty groans and throws his head back on the sofa.

“What's wrong?” Clarke wanders in from the kitchen with a bowl of cereal. Her hair's thrown up in a messy bun and she's looking at him all innocent as if she couldn't hear him limping in and depositing himself on the couch in defeat.

“I'm sweating in places I didn't even know I could sweat, Clarke. Why did you let me do this?”

“I tried to tell you! But it's pretty hard to talk you down once you've got a idea in your head.” she says, plopping down next to him.

“Never let me have an idea again. I think I might be dead.”

Clarke leans over and takes an exaggerated sniff. She grimaces,“You definitely smell like you could be.”

“Remind me again why we're friends.” he sighs. “I don't even have the energy to shower. I'm pathetic.”

“You're not pathetic. Deluded, maybe, but not pathetic.” Clarke pats his shoulder. “Maybe you could just ask him out like a normal person?”

“Come on, don't be ridiculous. I can't do that. Besides, he's always so busy at the gym, it seemed like the best place.”

“Rather you than me.”

“I don't know why I come to you for romantic advice. You're no help.”

Clarke snorts, a wave of milk nearly tipping out of her bowl. “I don't know either. I know what would help though.”

Monty quirks an eyebrow, too tired to do anything else.

“Wine?”

“God yes.”

  
  


-

  
  


“I thought we could try something different today.” Nate says in lieu of greeting. He's propped atop the bicycle rack, grey hoodie pulled up against the wind. It's been a week since their last attempt and Monty can still feel a dull ache in his arms. He's a sucker for punishment apparently.

“Different how?”

“You didn't seem to get on very well with the punch bag so how about we put you up against someone that's likely to put up more of a fight?”

“What now?”

Nate holds his hands up in surrender. “I meant me. You might be more motivated if you have a moving target.”

Monty holds his hands up. “All right, all right. Don't go blaming me if you don't look so pretty when we're finished.”

“If you think you're quick enough.” Nate grins, jumping down off the rails. “Come on, we better get started before the Try Hards get the best spots.”

They make their way through the double doors, the fluorescent lights still harsh despite the natural light still filtering through the blinds. Fox waves in their direction from behind the desk, balancing the phone between her shoulder and her ear.

It seems quieter than the last time Monty was here, bar the faint thumping of a bassline coming from one of the private rooms, but it was getting on for six o'clock so no doubt the place would be flooded with business types as soon as the working day was over. Monty can picture it now; their smug faces and their pretentious monogrammed exercise gear as they glide effortlessly between exercise machines.

Taking a left down through another corridor, the sound of drum and bass gets increasingly louder, obnoxious canvas paintings trembling against the walls along to the incessant beat of the music.

“I didn't know raving was classed as exercise.” Monty mutters.

Nate shakes his head and Monty doesn't have to see his face to know for a fact that his eyes are rolling. “It's a spin class, Monty.” he pushes open the door so Monty can look inside. It's full of sweaty people clinging to exercise bikes, their legs pounding the pedals to the rhythmic throbbing of the music blaring from the speakers. A small blonde girl is stood at the front of the class, shouting commands at the class like a drill sergeant. “Otherwise known as 'hell of earth'.”

“I didn't take you for someone that skips leg day.” Monty gasps with mock horror.

“And I didn't take you for someone dumb enough to insult the guy doing him a favour.” Nate bites back, shutting the door on his own personal hell. Spin, by the looks of it, was not for the faint hearted.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm forever indebted to you and I shouldn't mock you.” Monty smiles, dipping under the ropes and stepping into the ring.

“That's more like it.” Nate says, pulling a towel out of his gym bag before dropping it in the centre of the ring. He slings the towel over the ropes and then shrugs off his hoodie. “Go get changed and then we can get started.”

Monty does as he's told, heading over to the men's changing room. That's one more thing that helps him justify his hatred of the gym. Communal changing areas. The judgement of the more accomplished gym goers and the ensuing awkwardness as those less familiar struggle to change, wriggling underneath their towels so that no one else can see their physique. Monty just doesn't understand how anyone can have the confidence to strip off in front of a room full of people and just not care about them. Their opinions. Their better bodies. Their designer gym gear.

Thankfully, it must be his lucky day before there's only one other man in there – showering in one of the cubicles – so he quickly swaps over his clothes before someone else can come in and disturb him. Briefly wondering if the man in the shower realises he isn't alone, Monty laments that he had the balls to sing 'Eye of the Tiger' that badly in public when he hasn't even had a drop to drink.

Don't get him wrong though, it's not that Monty hates his body or anything like that. He's always been a little on the skinny side, yes, but he's got a small frame so it's hardly surprising, and he's never had a six pack or any kind of pack really (except of beers) but that doesn't bother him. It's the vulnerability of taking your clothes off, exposing yourself to the eyes of others that was the problem, whether you're happy with your body or not. Kind of like when Bellamy goes the the beach he refuses to take his shirt off unless the group are totally alone on the beach, hating the way strangers eyes follow his every movement.

He stuffs his work clothes in his rucksack, not bothering to fold them, and slings it back over his shoulder as the man in the shower gets to the closing 'duhs'.and shuts off the stream of water. He thinks it's probably time to take his leave, wanting to spare the man any embarrassment he might feel on getting caught out.

Monty almost wishes he hadn't walked out when he did. Coming to the gym is supposed to improve your health, not put you at risk of a hearty attack. But when do things ever work out for him? He's hardly what you'd call lucky.

He can't help the way that his jaw slackens at the sight before him, a spike of arousal shooting up his spine as his eyes roam across Nate's body.

If he didn't have an exercise kink before now, he sure does after seeing Nate hanging from the punch bag swinging from the ceiling. His legs tightly wrapped around the bag, Monty can only watch as he starts doing sit ups, hands fisted behind his head as he uses his legs to propel himself. It's hot. Monty can see Nate's shoulder muscles tensing as they work, beads of sweat sticking to the material, only highlighting the swell of his muscles all the more. Shit.

Why did he think this was going to be a good idea? It was just torture.

Monty can't help but ogle shamelessly. Watching Nate's display of strength is doing things to him that really aren't good for his health. Before he can say or do anything incriminating, Monty makes a point of clearing his throat. Maybe there is a god.

Nate drops down, making a grab for his towel and mopping his brow, and Monty takes a quick gulp of his water to steady himself. Had someone turned the air con off because it was getting really hot in here all of a sudden?

“Ready to start? Grab some mitts and strap your wrists.” Nate instructs, picking up his own pair of gloves.

“Before we start, can I ask a question?”

“You just did but I'm assuming that wasn't it.”

Monty rolls his eyes. “Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Nate. It's the lowest form of wit.”

“You wound me.” he sighs, pretending to clutch his heart.

“I don't understand why that's in there.” Monty grimaces, pointing an accusatory finger in the direction of the full length mirror propped up in the middle of the ring. It certainly hadn't been here the last time. Monty would have noticed.

“That was more of a statement than a question but okay. It's there so you can check your form if you're training on your own. I used to use one before I convinced Bellamy to join.”

Monty knocks his mitts together, having managed to get them on without getting himself all tangled up, partly because he thinks it looks cool and partly because he's trying to rouse more energy. “And there was me thinking it was so you can see your failure with your own eyes.”

“Why do you come to the gym if you hate it so much?” Nate asks, holding his pads up for Monty to aim at. “I don't get it.”

“Oh, you know, the usual. To get healthy or whatever.”

“Or whatever?”

Monty shrugs, “You can take a horse to water but you can't make it drink.” As if that makes it any clearer. He's always been a fan of proverbs, even if he doesn't always use them in the right way. It's a learning curve.

“Right okay then.” Nate laughs, rolling his eyes. “Less deflection, more action please.”

“And there I was thinking you liked talking to me.” Monty sighs, throwing a mediocre punch. “I'm hurt.”

“If we're going to do this, we're going to do it-”

“I know, I know. We're going to do it properly.” Monty mimics, lowering his voice a few octaves. Then, changing back to his normal timbre. “It's like you _want_ me to punch you.”

“Well yeah, that's kind of the idea.”

  
  


-

  
  


“I'm thinking of joining the gym.” Jaspers proclaims, snagging a generous handful of Monty's popcorn. It serves him right when he almost chokes on a kernel.

“And why, may I ask is that?” Monty asks, sending a disbelieving glance at his childhood best friend at the same time as Clarke groans, “Not another one!”

“No, you may not.” Jasper chides, offence written across his face. “I could go the gym. What? _I could?!_ Clarke tell him!”

Clarke sighs, used to their antics, before placating Jasper. “Monty, Jasper could go to the gym.” Then she smiles, sly. “He _won't_ but he _could_.”

“Hey!”

“What's brought this on then?” Monty asks before tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. A few fall from his hand so he picks them off of his sweater and pops them back into his mouth. He doesn't know why they even bother with putting a movie on for Movie Night. They should just admit that it's Gossip and Junk Food Night and carry on with their lives like the almost qualified adults that they are.

Jasper shrugs. “You seem to be enjoying it so I thought I could give it a go.”

“In other words, you thought it might impress Maya.” Monty scoffs, nudging Jasper into Clarke.

Clarke snorts. “You're a fine one to talk.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Monty frowns.

“Oh nothing. Just that you and Miller use the gym as some kind of weird foreplay.”

If Clarke's going to play it like that, Monty thinks, then he's going to give as good as he gets. “Says the expert in weird forms of foreplay.”

“He's got you there.” Jasper nods, knocking his glass against Monty's. He's pretty sure that obsessively competing against the object of your affections, crushing them at every opportunity is a hell of a lot weirder than what he's doing. At least he's getting healthy at the same time.

Clarke scowls, eyebrows furrowing. “The point still stands.” Then, after a brief pause, “But Monty's right, Jasper, I don't think you'd like the gym. There are too many pathetic people there, pretending to get fit in the hopes of snagging themselves a husband.” she shoots a pointed look in Monty's direction.

“Fuck you.” Monty yelps, tossing a pillow at Clarke's smug face.

Clarke smiles fondly, “Just for the record, though, I think the whole plan is ridiculous.”

“So you've said. Many times.”

“At least I'm consistent.”

“Consistently annoying.” Monty laughs, tossing a handful of popcorn in her direction.

  
  


-

  
  


Sweat's pouring off Monty like a shower, droplets snaking their way down his neck, trickling down his forehead and dripping off his nose. His arms ache and his legs feel like jelly but it'll all be worth it in the end when Nate finally realises that dating Monty is the next logical step in their friendship. It makes perfect sense really.

Nate's looking at him, all intense and brooding, as he continues to pump his fists at the punch bag, breath ragged and cheeks the colour of a beetroot. His eyes are tracing Monty's face and he can't help but think that if this was some kind of film, it would only be a few seconds more before Nate gave in and had Monty pushed up against the wall.

“You look like you're about to pass out.” Oh, maybe not then. If only.

Monty shakes his head, trying to catch his breath. “No...I'm good. Just... a bit...hot.”

“Okay, I think it's time for a break.”

“I'm fine!” Monty yelps, taking another wild swing. “Never been better.”

Nate catches hold of the punch bag mid swing and holds Monty in a determined stare. “You're definitely not fine. Now sit your ass down before you fall down.”

Taking a large gulp of air, Monty hobbles over to the mats and flops down next to Nate. The other boy hands him a water bottle, which he drains greedily before slicking back his matted hair. He's definitely handling this with dignity. “I could have carried on.”

“I'm sure you could've. I just don't fancy having to explain to Bellamy and Clarke that you'd dropped dead on my watch. Besides, I couldn't have that on my conscience.”

Feigning a swoon, Monty sighs. “Oh, Nate, I didn't know you cared.”

“Of course I care, idiot.” Nate smiles, resting his hand on Monty's knee. The younger boy can only hope and pray that he isn't sweaty enough to put Miller off for life. “I wouldn't be here if I didn't – I don't give up my evening for just anyone.” he adds and Monty can't help but notice that Nate avoids his gaze.

That's got to be good, right? Oh, who's he kidding, Monty wouldn't know if someone was flirting with him if they were wearing an 'I'm flirting with Monty Green' T-shirt. He has witnesses to prove it, unfortunately. He's basically stumbled blindly into every relationship he's ever had.

“How are things going with you and Jasper now?” Nate asks once Monty has gained his breath back. “Any better?”

Things had been kind of rough between the two of them when Jasper had first started seeing his girlfriend, Maya. Monty was often left in the apartment they shared with Clarke alone while Jasper spent all of his spare time out with Maya. And if he wasn't out with her then he spent all of the time he was actually with Monty, raving about how great she was and how she was the best thing to happen to him. Apparently everyone apart from Jasper himself could see how miserable Monty was becoming listening to his life long friend constantly tell him that his new girlfriend was the only person who really got him, _you_ _know_.

Monty does not know.

“Getting better. He can't help that he gets the way that he does.” Monty shrugs. After all these years of friendship, Monty has gotten used to forgiving Jasper. “Apparently he wants to join the gym.”

Nate snorts and then proceeds to full on laugh, straight from his belly. Loud and sudden. “Jordan at the gym? Next joke please.” Then he seems to sober, eyebrows furrowing. “You don't think it could've been his way of saying he wants to spend more time with you?”

Monty, being the mess he is, starts to panic, feeling his neck heat with embarrassment. “Jasper's usually far more direct than that. Besides, subtlety is not one of his strong suits. It's hardly the best place to chat is it?”

“I don't think we do too badly.” Nate shrugs.

They spend a couple of minutes just sitting, watching the rest of the gym goers going about their routines. One girl, in a full face of make-up, practising her squats in front of a row of occupied rowing machines catches his eye in particular. She's clearly only here – like Clarke said – to find a man but as she brings up a hand towel to mop her brow, Monty realises that he's no better himself.

If you can't beat them, join them.

They're still sat cross legged on the pile of yoga mats when Fox saunters in, hair pulled back into a tight braid and a neon orange clipboard tucked under her arm. When she catches sight of Nate, her face lights up and she starts to wave , almost frantically, in their direction.

“Miller, hey!” she calls, nearly tripping over someone doing press ups in her hurry to get to them.

“Here comes your admirer.” Monty mumbles, knocking their knees together to get Nate to look up from retying his shoe laces.

“Hi Fox, I, uh, didn't think you worked Thursdays.” Nate smiles. It's small, like he's trying not to encourage her but doesn't want to be rude. It's what Monty would call a 'customer service smile'.

She beams, lips curving from ear to ear. “I don't usually. Roma called out so, uh, here I am!” No one should be as chirpy as she is after being called in on their day off. It's kinda unnerving. Although Monty supposes it would be worth getting called in if it meant he could see Nate.

“Oh right. That sucks.” Nate says. “But, we were just about to get back to it so I'll catch you later.” he says politely, but with a finality that makes it clear he can't talk anymore.

She waves again, crestfallen, but plasters a smile back across her face. “See you, Miller, uh, you too, um,” she pauses, thinking, “Matt?”

Nate sniggers. “Come on _Matt_ , put your mitts back on.”

“Shut up.” Monty glares in what he hopes is a threatening manner. It's probably not but he tried.

“Make me.” Nate cajoles, reaching for his pads rather than his mitts. Monty's pretty sure that those two words are just an invitation to push the speaker up against the nearest wall and ravish them but the moods ruined when Nate pats him on the belly and says.“You need to work off all those Macaroons I know you have stashed in your bedside table.”

“Wait – how'd you know about those?” Those delicious melt in the mouth treats are the only guilty pleasure Monty has these days – aside, of course, from shamelessly admiring Miller during their training sessions together – so he's loathe to give them up if he doesn't have to. He's managed to keep them safe this long.

“Griffin is a traitor.” Nate shrugs as Monty lands a punch, his arms only burning slightly. Then, knocking Monty for six, he adds, “That's why her hair's so big...it's full of secrets.”

If Monty had been drinking, he'd have sprayed liquid out of every facial orifice. Nathan 'Anything Pop Culture Is Evil' Miller just quoted Mean Girls and Monty is shook.

“You did not.” he gasps, mouth hanging open.

“Oh, I did.” Nate smirks, lip tugging up to reveal the glint of pearl white teeth. “I'm a man of many hidden depths Monty.”

And Monty couldn't agree more. Over the years they've known each other Miller's true personality had slowly begun to trickle through the cracks in his carefully crafted facade of surliness.

At first, he'd rarely spoken to anyone in their friend group aside from Clarke, whom he'd grown up with living on the same street since they were eight, and Bellamy, his college room mate, but soon enough once he'd warmed up to the rest of them. Nate began joining in and revealing his inner nerd.

When they'd first met, Monty the stereotypical nerd type never would have thought that sports loving, gym going Nate Miller was into gaming – let alone the same games that Monty himself was in to – or that he kept a battered picture from his mom's last good day tucked inside his wallet, right next to his organ donor card.

He was an enigma in the best kind of way, Monty thinks, the more you learned about Nate the easier it was to fall...become fond of him. He bloomed in the quiet moments, never one to force himself into the spot light but, for Monty, he was always there in the forefront of everything.

It was easy to see past the gruff exterior if Miller let you, but it was making him feel comfortable enough around you that he drops his guard and starts giving things away that was the hard part. Most of their friends still hadn't achieved it and Monty's pretty sure that the only one of them that truly knows everything about Nate Miller is the man himself. But Monty is more than willing to do whatever he can to become the second. For the time being, though, it was a work in progress.

Shifting his weight onto this back foot, Monty readies himself to launch another punch when Nate begins to move around, circling him with an almost predatory look in his eyes. “Hey!” Monty whelps. “No fair, it's hard enough already without you moving around as well.”

“No pain, no gain.”

Monty sighs, “We both know that saying is garbage.”

Nate scoffs, poking his mitt against Monty's bicep. “These are coming on nicely. Clearly the saying isn't that bad after all.”

And, much to Monty's annoyance, he knew Nate was right. He'd noticed himself that he was starting to gain _actual_ muscle mass for the first time in his life, he was starting to feel better in himself and felt less lethargic after each session. He's far too stubborn to let Nate know that he was right though. “Whatever.”

Nate waits for Monty to take a quick drink before he switches his pads for a pair of mitts. And then, just like that, he's ducking and diving around Monty waiting for the smaller boy to land a few punches.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, right?” Monty smiles, watching Nate's movements intently.

“Now you're getting it.”

Maybe if he were actually _getting it_ then all this exercise would have paid off. It's a good thing Monty is nothing but patient so he just nods, hoping his cheeks haven't turned scarlet.

As he watches Nate, Monty realises that his movements look a lot like a dance but one that Monty couldn't follow the rhythm too, instead he was stumbling after him like a little girl dancing on her fathers feet at a wedding. He can only hope one day that he can match Nate, the pair of them moving together in perfect unison.

  
  


They're walking out of the gym – freshly showered, hair still damp – and about to part ways when Miller catches hold of Monty's shoulder.

“Hey, um, you did good today.” he smiles, soft, and Monty writes the flutter in his chest off to the after effects of their training session.

“Thanks man.”

“I've been thinking -” Nate's eyes drop down to his shoes, “Would you, uh – that is...will you...”

Monty can't help but get its hopes up. His plan to get Nate to date him has been going to plan so far – they were spending more time together, texting more – so Monty can't help but jump to conclusions and start second guessing the end of Nate's sentence. He's already planning where they're going to go for their date when the other man shakes his head, resigned.

“So, same time next week then?”

Monty's heart drops like an anchor, the disappointment settling heavily in the base of his stomach. “Sure. Bye Nate.” he does an awkward half wave before quickly excusing himself.

He's annoyed at himself the whole way home and can't help the way his shoulders slump over and his eyebrows furrow as his mind ticks over a mile a minute. It shouldn't be the end of the world if Miller doesn't want to date him and really it isn't. And yet.

He's been friends with people he's liked before without doing any kind of crazy scheme – despite what his friends might suggest – but for some reason being friends, and only friends, with Nate Miller is something that Monty isn't sure that he can do. An actual impossibility.

His heart does all of these stupid things whenever Nate so much as smiles in his direction and that's never happened before. Not properly at least. He can't help but want to kiss him all the time and the need is becoming so strong that it's starting to feel like an itch under his skin that he just can't scratch, however much he'd like to. To put it another way, Monty can't be just friends with Miller and remain sane.

  
  


-

  
  


Monty drops his keys twice before he manages to push the right one into the door and let himself into the apartment. His arms, much like Monty himself, are weak.

He drops his rucksack in the hall and his keys into the bowl – it was covered in stained glass fruit and he and Clarke had picked it up from a thrift store a few months back when they were in their 90's nostalgia phase.

“Honey I'm home!” he calls when he hears the blaring of the news and Clarke snorting after one particularly misogynistic headline. Must be Fox. He doesn't know why she watches it when she hates it so much. Well, that's not technically true, he does know why. She loves to hurl abuse, verbal and online, at the channel and try and single handedly get them, in her own words, 'shut the fuck down'. He can't say his disagrees with her.

“Something stinks!” she grimaces, moving her laptop off the sofa so Monty could drop down into its space.

He snags a handful of chips from the bag she's munching her way through. “Thank you again for your never ending stream of support, Clarke. I don't know what I'd do without your kind words.”

She shrugs, “You get used to it when you're friends with as many human messes as I am.”

“There's definitely a saying about that,” Monty pretends to muse, making another grab for the chips, “something about pots and kettles, I think.” it comes out with more bite than he intended.

Clarke sits up, crosses her legs underneath her and tucking a lose strand of hair behind her ear. “What's wrong? You're never usually _this_ grumpy after a gym sesh.”

“I'm not sure I want to do this sober.” Monty groans, running his hand through his sweaty hair.

Clarke's already half way towards the kitchen before he's finished his sentence. At this point it's a well oiled routine for them. They get tipsy and complain about their disastrous love lives like all functioning adults do. It's cathartic.

Once there are two full glasses of red wine in front of them and Monty has claimed the bag of chips from Clarke, they're ready to begin.

“It's so unfair!” Monty whines, taking a sizeable gulp. “His ass looks so good in his shorts – like _unfairly_ good, fantastic even and he's got all of these stupid muscles that he flexes all the damn time -”

“Probably because you chose the gym as your chosen hang out zone.” Monty shoots her an unimpressed look and takes another gulp of his wine. She rolls her eyes in return. “I'm just saying. Exercising kind of involves a lot of muscles. You only have yourself to blame for this one kiddo.”

“Helpful.”

She holds her hands up in defeat, nearly sloshing wine over their cream couch. Again. They're already on their last chance with the cushions since they've already be stained once and turned over before.

“It's just so hard. He smiles at me and I feel all warm and squishy and stupid and I just don't know what he's thinking in return. I literally have no idea. Sometimes I think – sometimes I'm sure he likes me too but I just can't be sure. Like earlier, it really felt like he was about to ask me out but then he didn't and now I'm more confused than ever. He's just so damn hard to read.” Monty sighs.

Clarke snatches back the packet of chips and takes a handful. “That's true. One year I got him a sweater for secret santa and I thought he hated it – he kept saying he was keeping it for best, which is what people say when they think it's horrible and don't want to offend you – until I saw him wearing it at his dads thanksgiving party the following year. It's just how he is. He's been that way as long as I've known him.”

“But I thought spending time together would help him open up with me and see how much he really should be dating me.” he sighs again.

“First off, he should already know that he should be dating you because you're awesome. And second off, if he can't see that then he's an idiot because he'd be lucky to have you.” Clarke emphasises her point by fixing him in a stare and then downing the rest of her glass of wine. “Don't forget that he's probably just as unsure about these things.”

“But how do you tell if a boy likes you? There must be a way right? I can't just be expected to fumble my way through adult life without knowing if someone likes me back or not...can I?” Monty sighs just as Clarke's about to pour another glass when she notices that the bottle's empty and she pouts pathetically in Monty's direction.

He shrugs and hands her the disguarded bag of chips. She takes a large handful, crumbs littering her lap, when her whole face lights up. The way it does when she's got a plan; this could either be incredibly good or incredibly bad for him but at this point Monty is ready for all the help he can get.

“I've just had _the_ best idea.” she grins, eyes bright and edging only slightly into terrifying. Bad for him, then. “It's something Wells and I came up with when we were in high school and still figuring out how to navigate same sex attraction – well, any kind of mutual attraction really – but it's extra effective for us.” She looks so smug but he can't bring himself to be mad about it. “It's fool proof.”

“Somehow I doubt it.” he rolls his eyes. Clarke's plans were, historically speaking, _not_ fool proof in the slightest. “But go on, enlighten me.”

“Okay so you remember those twenty question type games you used to play to get to know people?”

“I'm familiar with them.” At this point, Monty's one hundred percent certain that he's not going to like where she's going with this.

“Right, that's a good start. So, over text you start playing with, like, a few easy questions and then you wait and see if they drop in the 'do you like anyone?' question.” she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Now here's the clever part, you have to answer with 'yeah, you'.”

“That doesn't seem like it helps me find out if they like me back, though, I'm just confessing my feelings. Besides you're basing a lot on assumption, Clarke.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Just listen. If they respond back in a positive way then that's great but if it's a negative response you just make out you missed off the question mark and correct yourself to, 'yeah, you?”

“I'm not saying that that isn't a great plan Clarke. But it seems to be placing an awful lot of weight on Miller actually asking me if I like anyone which I find highly unlikely given that he's not the most open person when it comes to feelings. Besides that, we've been friends for years so twenty questions would seem a bit odd, no?”

“Fair point but if it ever comes up you should try it.” she looks wistful for a moment, before, “It's worked out very well for me in the past.” she smirks and Monty's more than glad that she doesn't elaborate.

“I promise to try it if the times right.”

Clarke takes a final gulp of wine,“That's all I ask.”

  
  


-

  
  


Monty's running late.

He's running late and he's wedged into the window seat on the bus next to an ageing woman who, quite clearly, has some spacial awareness issues. Monty hates being late and he hates taking the bus so it stands to reason that the two of those things combined are the worst.

The only reason he's on the damn bus in the first place is that the damn subway station was closed and every second that ticks by on the bus is less time that he can spend with Nate when he _eventually_ arrives at the gym.

He texted Nate nine minutes ago and now, much to the disapproval of the woman sitting next to him, he can't help but keep checking his phone every few seconds to see if he's got a reply. It's like a nervous tick, every few seconds he's unlock and lock the screen just to see if he'd missed anything.

It takes another four minutes and numerous tuts and eye rolls from his neighbour before his phone finally vibrates. He nearly jumps out of his skin.

 

**Miller 19:57**

No worries, man. I've left my locker key with Fox. See you inside. (Strong arm emoji)

  
  


Monty spends a couple of minutes typing and then re-typing until he notices that he's almost at his stop and deems replying now futile, by the time he'd typed out a reply he'd already be inside. Besides, Nate's phone is always in his lockers during work outs anyhow so it's not like he'd see the message until they were done.

The bus pulls to a halt, jolting forward with a harsh slam of the brakes. Monty shuffles past his neighbour, earning himself another pointed tut as he almost trips over her shopping bags – silly woman shouldn't have left them sticking out into the aisle. He mutters a quick apology anyway before hopping off the bus and crossing the street to get to the gym.

“Hey...” Fox mumbles when he walks into the foyer, the pause giving her away, “uh, Monty?”

He smiles, leaning against the desk. “Nate said he'd left his key for me?”

She nods, fumbling underneath a mixture of paperwork and magazines on her desk before producing the keys and handing them over. “He's waiting in the usual spot.”

  
  


“Better late than never.” Nate smirks as Monty walks over, bag still slung over his shoulder.

He holds his hands up in defeat. “I know, I'm sorry. Just thought I'd come say 'hi' before getting changed.” Monty does an awkward kind of half wave from the doorway. “So, hi.”

Nate smiles, big and bright, and Monty feels his stomach start to squirm. “Stop messing about and go get changed. We've got a lot to catch up on.”

Monty manages to nod accompanied by only minimal eye rolling, making his way to the changing rooms and pulling on his gym clothes. He takes a quick look at himself in the mirror, runs his fingers through his fringe only to shake it out again with a sigh, and then makes his way over to the lockers.

He knows Nate's is number seven, without having to ask. He always uses it for everything and, even though Monty knows Nate doesn't believe in luck, seven would still be his lucky number.

The blue coating on the metal is peeling away in the corners and the look hangs crooked on the left hand side. Monty stuffs the key into the lock and jolts it to the right, pulling the door open. He pauses when he sees the inside. It strikes him as odd that he's spent all this time coming to the gym before and has never seen the inside of Nate's locker before but he supposes that since he always turns up in his gym clothes that he's never had the need to use it before.

The inside of the locker is covered in pinned up photos, most of them are group shots from their camping trips, a couple of Nate and Bellamy around their apartment and, then, tucked at the back next to a photo of his mum, is a picture of the two of them from the previous Christmas. They're both in festive jumpers that are far too big for them and they're grinning up at the camera – Octavia had given Bellamy a Polaroid and he'd being snapping pictures of their party all day – and the sight of it tugs at Monty's heart.

The sight of it brings back a flood of happy, warm memories that make his cheeks burn and his heart ache. They've had so many good times in the past, that Christmas just one of the more recent and as Monty recalls all the times they've laughed and smiled together over the years, all the shared glances, whispered conversations and playful nudges that make him question where he stands with the other man.

On one hand, all of those things could be read as romantic but they could also be completely platonic because life is just _that_ unfair.

Monty stuffs his bag into the locker and slams it shut, before he can overthink things more than he already has. Slotting the key in place, he drops back against the cool metal and heaves one last sigh before stealing himself and making his way to Nate.

  
  


“Get lost, did you?” Nate smirks, tossing Monty a set of gloves. “I was about to send a search party.”

“I've told you before, sarcasm doesn't suit you.”

“And I've told you before that I don't care. Now, put your gloves on and get to work.” Monty turns, thinking Nate was annoyed until he saw the quirk in his eyebrow. “I'm only half kidding, I've got places to be after this.”

Places to be? Since when did Miller have _places to be?_

Was that an awful thing to think about one of your friends? Probably. Definitely. But, in his defence, for the whole time they've known each other Monty has never known Miller to go anywhere other than the gym, his apartment or the bar and on the odd occasion, out of town to visit his dad. Monty's mind was racing over all the possibilities when a horrible thought popped into his head, causing his fists to pummel the punch bag harder than ever before.

What if Nate had a date?

His fists were starting to ache now. He's pretty sure he'll be bruised in the morning.

A date that was not with Monty.

This was _not_ how the plan was supposed to work out. Monty has not sweated oceans and ached for weeks on end for Nate to end up with somebody else. Nope. It is not happening. But what is it _is_?

Maybe everyone (read: Clarke and Jasper) was right and the plan really is dumb and if he and Miller were meant to be then it would have happened a long time ago. That he's just clutching at straws.

But, he supposes, he hasn't got anything left to lose so maybe Clarke's whole twenty questions thing isn't the worst idea to try. Who's he kidding, it's a terrible idea but it's the only one he's got.

“So,” Monty probes, slowing the pace of his fists enough so that he can catch his breath. “Do you, uh, like anyone right now? Anyone you've got your eye on kind of thing?”

He can't help but notice the way that Miller's cheeks noticeably darken. “I thought we were here to work out not to gossip like a couple of teenagers?”

Monty shrugs, feeling as though he might be getting somewhere with this after all. It seemed like he was hitting a nerve after all. “Come on, man, I follow all the regimes you give me, the least you can do is answer the question for me.” He smiles, rueful, and comes to a complete stop.

“Uh, yeah.” There's a pregnant pause before he adds, “You?”

Monty shrugs, feeling deflated. The pause gave it all away didn't it, the answer that he didn't want to hear. No one pauses like that mid sentence, do they? “There is someone but it's been too long so I, uh, don't think it's going to happen.”

“Hey, anyone would be lucky to have you and if they can't see that then they're the ones who are missing out, not you, okay?” Nate enthuses, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Monty wonders what Nate would think if he realised he was taking about himself. Probably embarrassment mixed with sympathy; the worst combination. Christ, this is not going the way Monty wanted it to.

At least he can put the whole thing behind him now.

  
  


They wrap it up not long after and hit the showers, tension in the air that's so thick it's practically palpable, so much so that Monty can feel the awkwardness crawling up his spine.

Pushing back the curtain and stepping into the cubicle, Monty flicks the shower on before letting the scalding water pummel his body, dragging his hands through his hair and trying desperately not to think about the fact that he's lost his chance to tell Nate how he feels. He tries to pretend that the water washing over his body is cleaning off all the disappointment he feels about the situation, letting it wash off him and swirl down the plughole, but somehow it just isn't enough.

He waits long enough that so that Nate will probably have already headed off to wherever it is he _needs to be_ , Monty hops out of the shower and begins to towel himself off. It doesn't take long for him to be mostly dry. He doesn't bother trying to dry his hair, since this time of year, it's so hot out it'll dry itself on the walk back to his apartment.

Monty's minding his own business, so he's not expecting to be ambushed. Really though, as someone who spends more than a healthy amount of time playing video games, he should probably be much more aware of his surroundings than this.

He's grabbing his bag from his locker, careful not to dislodge any of the photos, when he's startled by someone clearing their throat on the other side of the open door. Monty jumps out of his skin when, after slamming the door shut, he finds Nate leant against the lockers, a shy smirk playing on his lips. It was enough to give him a heart attack. And that was before Nate started sneaking up on him.

“Shit! I thought you had somewhere to be?” Monty yelps.

“The thing is, Monty, I think I messed up somewhere along the way.” he says, dragging a hand over his cropped hair. “Just tell me if I'm totally barking up the wrong tree here, but I was thinking maybe we could have places to be together? If you want to we could go for something to eat?”

Stunned is not strong enough of a word to describe how Monty feels hearing Nate say these things. The kind of things he's been hoping to hear for a long time now, things that he thought he'd never actually be hearing. His stomach is going over and he doesn't think he's ever been so confused as he is right now. How did this become his life?

“Sorry what? I'm confused.”

“Me, you and some food? You know, going out together like people do when they like each other. I haven't uh misread that have I? We're on the same page aren't we?” Nate's smile falters slightly, eyes dropping to the floor. “You were talking about me earlier. You do like me too or have I made a massive fool out of myself?”

Up until now, Monty has been too shocked to get any coherent words out but he suddenly snaps out of his reverie when Nate reaches out and rests a tentative hand on his forearm. “I was but – but I thought you were...I thought you didn't feel the same way. You uh said you like someone so I just kind of assumed...”

“Maybe you shouldn't be so quick to assume. You know what they say about assumptions after all.” Nate shrugs as if he hasn't just turned Monty's world upside down. Which he has. Monty still can't quite believe it. “Pancakes then?”

Monty's brows furrow, maybe he still hasn't got a clue what's going on after all. “What about them?”

Nate laughs, low. “Eating them, probably, unless you're not hungry. You like them right? They're your favourite? Chocolate chip and maple syrup.” he tacks on the last part almost to prove like he's been paying attention all this time. It's nice, though, to know he has.

“Sounds good to me if you're sure.”

“Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't.” The shake of Nate's head is fond rather than annoyed. “I've been working up to this for ages actually.”

“Good to know.” Monty smiles.

He thinks he's allowed to feel smug. He's earned it.

  
  


-

  
  


They hail a cab not far from the gym, round the corner on Flatbush, bundling in themselves after their gym bags into the too small back seat. It's a typical cab – nothing to write home about – but to Monty, it's suddenly the most romantic place in the city. He should probably take that as a sign that he should get out more but he's pretty sure that anywhere with someone that you care about this much could be romantic.

Monty can't help but feel nervous even though Nate is smiling at him brighter than he's ever seen before and their legs are, unnecessarily, pressed together from the hip down to the knee. Nate's leg knocks against Monty's as he bounces in time with the song blaring through the radio as he gives the name of the parlour to the driver and then settles back in his seat, placing a warm hand on Monty's knee.

Monty has to try hard to suppress a shiver, the thrill of it dancing up his spine. It feels as though it's going to burn a hole straight through his jeans. It'd hardly anything at all but it's still the most physical contact Monty's had in a long time that wasn't from either Clarke or Jasper. Hopefully, there will be more to come.

Nate glances up so he must have noticed Monty tense up. “Too much?” He asks, about to pull his hand away.

“Not at all.” Monty smiles back, placing his hand over Nate's to hold it in place. “This has just been a long time coming for me.”

“For me too, you know.” Nate ducks his head. “You're not the only one who's been pining away.”

It doesn't take all that long to get to Murphy's, the old style diner on the edge of town. It hadn't been open all that long and Monty and Jasper had been meaning to check it out for a while now but , as usual, things kept coming up and now it was four months later and neither of them had been in yet.

Nate hops out of the cab first, paying their fare with a handful of crumpled bills through the drivers window before making his way around the vehicle and opening the door for Monty. Such a gentleman. It shouldn't be surprising that it makes his stomach swoop but that doesn't stop it from happening though. Monty can't help but wonder if he'll ever get used to this happening, he doesn't think so.

Slinging their bags over their shoulder, they wait for the cab to drive off and then cross the road to the diner. Walking over to the door Nate, opens it and lets Monty walk in first, coy smile playing on his lips. Monty wonders if Nate's father knows what a credit he is to him – he definitely does, he's seen the pride in David's eyes whenever he looks at his son – but Monty's still to take every opportunity he has to remind him and everyone who will listen. 

Almost as soon as they're through the door, a girl with a prominent tattoo that curves around her eye bounds over, nearly losing the pencil that's tucked behind her ear in her excitement, and seats them in one of the many booths that run along the walls. They both slide in either side of the table, the tall black leather seats giving them plenty of privacy, and Monty's all too aware of the grin that's plastered across his face.

“Just wave me over once you're ready to order.” The girl – Emori, if the name on her badge is anything to go by – says as she hands each of them a menu before making her way around the other tables, offering refills and mopping up spills. Monty can't help noticing that even though one of her hands is bandaged, she has no trouble clearing the tables.

  
  


They're halfway through their stack of pancakes when the whole situation actually starts to kick in. He's on a real date with Miller – not just a gym session or when they're the only ones who are free to meet at the bar – and they're getting pancakes because Nate knew they were his favourites.

Nate hadn't even complained when Monty took ages deciding between the Oreo pancakes and the maple syrup or whether to have a smoothie or a milkshake, he just watched him with a fond, almost indulgent, smile on his face that melted Monty's heart.

Whenever he's let himself imagine how their first date would be in the past, he'd never imagined having to talk with a hand over his mouth, covering the maple syrup smudge on his chin, or making sure he doesn't get chocolate chips stuck in his teeth but that doesn't make it any less special. He may as well not bother though, Nate's seen him in far worse states than this.

“You don't have to do that.”

“Do what?” Monty mumbles from behind his hand.

“Talking behind your hand. I really don't care if you get something in your teeth or anything like that. I like you for the kind of person you are, not what you look like.” he pauses, considering. “Don't get me wrong, I do like what you look like too – of course I do – but things like that really don't bother me. I don't want you to have to hide yourself from me. You never have before so why should it be any different now that we're on a date.”

Monty blushes, taking his hand away from his mouth and swiping a napkin across his mouth. “You're a man of hidden depths.”

Nate smirks. “I'm like an onion. I have layers.”

“Did you just quote Shrek at me?”

“Got a problem with that?”

“Not at all.” he smiles, twirling his straw through his shake. “Doesn't this defeat the point of all the exercise we've been doing?” Monty asks, taking a long slurp from his milkshake. Mint choc chip – his favourite. “There must be some rule or something right?”

Swallowing a mouthful of pancake, Nate shakes his head. “Never heard of cheat day, Monty? It's all about balance you know. There's no point doing exercise and eating right if it makes you miserable.”

“As far as I'm concerned, Nate, everyday is a cheat day.” He feels vindicated when he elicits a smirk from the other man. His stomach flutters and he can't believe this is how the day turned out. “What? I'm serious. I can't help that I've got a sweet tooth.”

Nate's eyebrow shoots up. “Sweet tooth or the munchies?”

“Nathan Miller I have no idea what you're talking about and, frankly, I am appalled by that accusation!” As if to emphasise the point, Monty stabs his fork into his stack, spearing through all five pancakes. It's a good thing that they're a soft food, since his arms are still tired out after their workout, or the emphasis would be ruined.

“Sure you are.” Nate smiles, wiping his thumb over some sauce off of his bottom lip. Then he pauses as if he wants to say something, eyes dropping down to his plate, pointedly not meeting Monty's eye as he drags his fork through the strawberry sauce on his plate. “So, uh, I hope you didn't have any plans for this evening.”

Monty shrugs, waiting until he'd finished his bite of pancakes before answering.“You mean aside from crashing out on my sofa and eating my body weight in cheese puffs and jelly worms?”

“I'm sorry I kept you from early onset diabetes but you've had a good time right?” Nate laughs, twirling his straw through the remnants of his milkshake. He looks confident but Monty can hear the nerves in his voice when he asks, “Do I get a second date, then?”

“Of course, I can't believe you even have to ask. It's not like I've been harbouring a giant crush on you for months or anything.” He'd be lying if he said it wasn't reassuring to see Nate blushing at his words. Monty had kept his feelings hidden for so long that, even though they're sat opposite each other on a gods honest date, he keeps forgetting that they're actually reciprocated.

“Why didn't you say anything?” Nate asks, dragging his pancake through a patch of melting ice cream.

Monty quirks an eyebrow. “Why didn't you?”

Nate smirks. “Touché.”

“I don't know. As cliché as it sounds, I was scared, you know.” Monty shrugs, looking down at his plate and avoiding eye contact. There's a lot of that going around. “I don't know if you realise this but you're damn hard to read even at the best of times. I didn't want to say something and have you be completely blind sided because you were only ever being friendly and I'd totally misread the whole situation. I'd have been mortified and so would you have.” Monty says, finally meeting Nate's gaze. “And, uh, it's been a while since Harper so I'm kind of out of practice with this whole _feelings_ thing.”

Miller waves Emori over for a refill on both of their shakes. She tops them off with a smile, before clearing their plates and making her way back over to the bar and leaving them to it.

“I understand where you're coming from.” he smiles weakly, wringing his hands together on top of the table. “Brian always used to say that was the problem with our relationship that, I uh – that I never opened up and expressed my emotions or whatever but it's hard for me. I should have just said something to you sooner but might not have felt the same. But listen, I do really like you Monty – I have for a while now – and what I'm trying to say is, well, I'm just really glad we did this tonight.”

“Me too.” Monty smiles, reaching across the table for Nate's hand, lacing their fingers together. It feels right, seeing their hands locked together. They really should have done this sooner. “Tell you what, if we do this properly and really give this – us – a chance we should just agree to give each other time and space, right? There's no need to rush anything and we can go at our own pace.”

Nate smiles, tracing his thumb over Monty's fingers. “Sounds good to me.”

“Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah? And what's that?”

“Lots and lots of video games.”

Nate chuckles. “I think I can manage that.”

-

  
  


_Three weeks later_

  
  


“So, let me get this straight.” Nate laughs, hovering above Monty with only his bed sheet separating them.

Despite their promises to take things slowly, ever since they'd finally managed to get their shit together, hardly a night went by that they didn't spend wrapped up in each others beds. It had gotten to the point that when Nate wasn't there, Monty's bedsheets still smelled like him, a delicious musky sent that Monty will never get enough of. He wouldn't change a thing

“You coming to the gym was all an elaborate plot to get me to date you?”

Monty almost doesn't catch what he says, he's too busy admiring the way Nate's eyelashes cast shadows across his cheeks. Even though they've been friends for years, being up close like this Monty always finds some new thing about Nate to fall in love with.

He used to hate the way he could feel his cheeks turning crimson but he realises he doesn't have to hold himself back around Nate anymore. “Uh, yeah. Trust me, you're a great trainer and gym buddy, but I was not turning up week after week because I love embarrassing myself in front of other people.”

Nate snorts. “You did well, it wasn't embarrassing.”

“Whatever.” Monty sticks his tongue out. “The plan still worked didn't it?”

“That's kind of sweet actually. You did something you hated because you knew I liked it.” Nate smiles, tilting his head so their forehead were touching and stroking his thumb lazily over Monty's cheek.

“And now I get to do you which is something that I love. Have I told you that yet, that I love you?”

“Not yet,” Nate smiles and Monty's close enough to see his eyes turn black. “But it's never a bad time to hear it.” He pauses, eyes tracking over Monty's face with such intensity that Monty feels a shiver skating down his spine. “I love you too, you know, but that goes without saying.”

Monty flushes, nuzzling his face into the crook of Nate's neck. “It really doesn't.”

“I thought it was obvious, Bellamy's been telling me for months that I either needed to bite the bullet and make a move or stop moping about.”

Monty huffs out a laugh, breath causing goosebumps to ripple on Nate's neck. “Bellamy giving relationship advice, now I've heard everything.”

“He was right though.” Even though Monty can't see his face, he knows that Nate's smiling. He's grown to learn the sound of it in his voice. He's grown to learn a lot of new things about Nathan Miller since giving up the gym and Monty can't bring himself to regret any one of them.

If going to the gym was what it took to get them together then Monty would go to the damn gym every damn day for the rest of his life if it meant he could keep him. It would be worth it.

 


End file.
